Asriel and Marisa: A Back Story for a Back Story
by StormwalkerofLorien
Summary: This is my take on the story of how Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter met and fell in love. It's short, probably a bit inaccurate, but I hope it captures the mood of the trilogy, because I really love those books. Rated K because I'm paranoid.


**Disclaimer: I don't own His Dark Materials. If I did, then Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter would still be alive, because I LOVED them. **

"You really should be scared of her." The meaning of my words dissipates as it meets the frosty morning air. We trek through the deep, wet snow, I and a good friend.

Lord Asriel just chuckles, paying no heed to my ominous warning. "Of what?" he replies good-naturedly. "My friend, there is nothing to fear!" His confidence steadies my nerves ever so slightly, but I still see danger in the tall, lonesome figure on the horizon.

Lord Asriel walks more purposefully now, in the direction of the young woman's distant silhouette. "Why?" he asks, without meeting my eyes.

"Why should you- have you gone mad?" She carries a hand gun in coat, and she knows how to use it. The gleam in her eyes just chills me to the bone; there is something malicious hiding behind them, and her daemon is remarkably crafty. She is not ornery woman!"

As I attempt to prove my statement, the gears in Asriel's mind are turning. After a moment, he looks at me with a maniacal grin and says earnestly, "Exactly," and he quickens his pace.

I do not want to approach her, but my friend offers me no choice. The long walk to the snowy point gives me time to ponder what is to come. I dread looking into her eyes; just the thought of them sends a shiver up my spine.

Her daemon, a golden monkey, spots us before she does, alerting her with a sharp tap on the shoulder. She turns around, and again I feel that painful shot resonate though my back and neck at the sight of the brooding expression that masks her true feelings. To an extent, that is. Her hair is blond and falls just past her chin, framing her face around intense blue eyes. Her lips are set tight in a permanent manner of determination. She appears to be watching everything at once.

Lord Asriel clears his throat. "Marisa," he acknowledges. So that is her name. Her face, so clever and yet so haunting, breaks into a warm smile, and although she still radiates an ambitious, manipulative aura, I believe that she is trule pleased to see him. I wonder absent mindedly where they have spoken before.

He gestures to me. "This is Lord Faa, my good friend, a Gyptian." I attempt a grin as she holds out her hand.

"Marisa Coulter," she says in a soft, rich voice. Her hand is as cold as ice.

"So," Lord Asriel interjects, turning to Marisa with interest. "Tell me about your travels."

We become an alliance quickly: I with my ship, Asriel with his adventurous nature, and Marisa with her cunning and experience. We travel the globe just out of curiosity for the world around us. We learn much more about Marisa than we had previously assume, due to her reserved nature. She is exceedingly clever, managing to weasel us free shelter nearly every city we dock at on our travels. She is quite beautiful, but in the way that a flickering brush fire is beautiful: to be admired until it kills you. She does not kill us, though, stalks not behind us but beside us. Like a pride of lions, we hunt together.

I speak to Lord Asriel in the cabin one night. The full moon shines over our heads, still not shedding enough light on the world Asriel describes to me: the world of Marisa's past adventures.

"The things she has discovered!" he rants. "The places she has seen! They are like other worlds!" He is entranced in the though of exploring faraway places, just as he has always been, wishing to explore the farthest reaches of the universe... and perhaps beyond.

There seems to be a light in Marisa that Asriel sees that I cannot. To me she is no more intriguing than she was when I met her, her qualities and weaknesses apparent in her slightest actions, like walking through snow, and pushing her hair behind her ears. She has always been intelligent, dark, lonesome, manipulative, uncanny, suspicious... my mind trails off.

"Too proud to fear," Lord Ariel exclaims, concluding my list with finality. I am reminded of what I told him the day we met her.

_You really should be scared of her. _Lord Asriel is of a few who believe that women can be strong and powerful, and Marisa is like an example sent directly to him. That could possibly be what intrigues my friend so. She certainly does not fear us. Whatever it is, Marisa is equally fascinated by Asriel's mysterious, proud persona.

They grow ever closer, and I can tell she is happy with him, though whenever they step side by side, there is an intricate grief interlaced with her joy, as though both passionate emotions are dancing across her eyes like snowflakes on a winter morning. She is a puzzle, a labyrinth of emotions, unnavigable by all except for my friend.

It hardly matters, however, because a year later I find myself standing in the corner of one

of the dimly lit cabins on my ship, beside me a young witch, whose expression is hardened by traces of fear that had seeped into her eyes in the past minutes. She is an old acquaintance, this witch, but she pays a visit to us now to see who she calls the "child of prophecy," the very reason I am in this room.

I watch the child of Asriel and Marisa squirm in her mother's arms, her name, Lyra, whispered into her ear by none other than Lord Asriel himself, and I cannot keep the smile from my face. But as I look on the family fondly, the witch grows more somber, speaking to Marisa in a low voice.

Marisa's eyes widen, then darken and cloud with grief. She addresses Lord Asriel, her blue eyes darting to the child and back again, and she murmurs to her lover, "You really should be scared of her."


End file.
